


Four Times SI had to write more fiction than most novelists and One Time they didn’t

by pulangaraw



Category: The Dresden Files - Jim Butcher
Genre: 5 Times, Gen, Special Investigations Unit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-04
Updated: 2017-05-04
Packaged: 2018-10-28 02:31:07
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10821888
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pulangaraw/pseuds/pulangaraw
Summary: What it says in the title. Just a little ficlet I wrote because I was bored and needed to cheer myself up.





	Four Times SI had to write more fiction than most novelists and One Time they didn’t

1.  
 _And then the man spat a gob of acid on the pinball machine and it melted into a puddle of metal goo._

Lieutenant Murphy stopped reading the report and groaned. “Carmichael, you can’t write that in the official report,” she chided the officer sitting in front of her desk. 

Carmichael shrugged. “Hey, what do you want me to do? I already left out the part where the man looked like a green demon with clawed feet and burning red eyes.”

Murphy sighed. “Do we really need to mention the pinball machine?”

“Yeah, the owner wants to collect the insurance money and they’ll want the official police report. That place could really use all the money they can get to get back into business. Sorry, boss.”

Murphy rubbed a hand between her eyebrows, trying to stave off a headache. Sometimes working for SI really sucked. 

“Alright, leave it in then, but at least make him throw the acid with a glass bottle or something.” She handed Carmichael the file back. 

“You got it, Lieutenant.”

 

2\.   
“How are we going to explain ‘ravaged by tiny glowing fairies’ in the report?” Stallings mused as he batted uselessly at the small glowing orbs of light that were whirling like crazy tornadoes over, around and through the pizza boxes on the counter of the Pizza ‘Spress SI found themselves currently defending against a supernatural attack. 

“Rats,” Dresden shouted from over in the corner where he was doing some magical doohickey that hopefully would stop the miniature fireworks. He didn’t even need a moment to think about it. 

“Damage control first, reports later,” Murphy growled and swatted a glowing orb out of the air with a mean, precise, backhanded swipe. 

Murphy hated official reports. 

 

3\.   
“Trolls don’t exist,” Rudolph stated for the third time in as many minutes. 

He was leaning on his outstretched arms, which were planted on the table top. It made him loom over their witness, but it didn’t seem to have any effect on the old wino. Neither did the dagger glares Rudolph threw at him.

The old man shrugged, the smell of stale alcohol, sweat and general outdoors living rising from him at the motion. Rudolph grimaced. 

“I see wha’ I see. You ask, I tell ya.” 

The vein in Rudolph’s forehead started pulsing.

Murphy suppressed a grin. She’d leave the joy of writing this report to Rudolph. 

 

4\.   
“What did we use the last time someone from the White Court whammied a college party?” Rawlins asked, squinting at the report on his computer screen.

Murphy searched her memory. “Hypoxic hallucinations due to a gas leak?”

Miller shook his head. “Nah, that was the Rumpelstilzchen incident in the park.”

“Damn,” Murphy muttered, “How often have we used contaminated beverages this month already?”

“Three times, we gotta come up with something new.” Miller scratched his stubbly chin. “Drugs?”

“Boring,” Rawlins said, “and we’ll potentially be asked to investigate a non-existent distributor. Waste of time.”

“Easiest would probably be to write it up as a mix of underage drinking and teenage hormones going wild and be done with it,” Murphy sighed. 

“Yeah,” Miller agreed, “I guess that sounds mostly plausible.”

“Plausible enough for City Hall anyway,” Rawlins added and started typing.

 

5\.   
Murphy closed the file with a snap. “Sounds good enough for an official report. What really happened?”

“Uh,” Farrell said, “That’s actually what happened.”

Murphy raised her eyebrows. “It really was a run-of-the-mill burglary?”

“Yup.”

“And you’re sure the perp is human?”

Farrell tugged at his tie. “ ‘s what Dresden says and I figure he’d know.”

“Huh, and not other funny business? What about the screeching from the basement the owner reported?”

“Raccoons got trapped. Exterminator took care of ‘em.”

“Well, alright then,” Murphy said, “Good job, Farrell.”

“Thanks ma’am. Be nice if all our cases were this easy, eh.”

Murphy smiled. “Where would be the fun in that?”

 

The End


End file.
